Wet Tuesday

Then, of course, it rains today, after waxing lyrical about the imminent arrival of summer, yesterday. It’s not ideal for it to be raining to have wood delivered, or at least, not ideal to have wood delivered in the rain when one has to go ahead and stack it.

I like stacking the wood, I find it therapeutic. Put some music on in my headphones, shut the rest of the world out (anything to shut the rest of the world out, all that fucken noise) and just get to it. It is meditative. Maybe, not so much in the rain, although if it was warm, and the rain fell as well, now that would be kind of exhilarating. Maybe, I need to get out more to fully explore exhilaration, sure, maybe that is true. But that combination of rain on my face while being fully comfortable in a t-shirt, that is kind of special.

Anyway, the wood man just messaged, he’ll be here in an hour.

I’d better plug back into the salt mines to see if any of the hags have made requests of my skill set, as yet this morning. Of course, it is still a bit early for any of them, they haven’t fully kicked the coffin lid off by this time. Or digested their placenta power juice.

I've already done a couple of hours. Maybe, it is time to watch a little YouTube. Gotta love working from home.

10am. The wood arrives. I put music on and got to stacking a ton of wood up against the side wall.

Sam offered to send Charlie out to help to put his muscles to work, you know, other than in the gym, but, you know, sometimes it is just easier to do stuff yourself.

It took me an hour to stack the wood. The rain had pissed off, and the overcast day had cleared up.

My Monday

My mechanic calls mid morning to say my car was ready. I dropped it off last week and hadn't anticipated it being ready to be picked up for a couple more days yet, as I am getting wood delivered in the morning and the wood man needs a clear area to dump his load, so to speak. My mechanic said they wouldn’t be working Friday holiday, but apparently, they did work last Friday.

So, I headed off to get the car. Gotta love working from home. I stuck my headphones in my ears, turned Exile on Main Street up and off I went out into the sunshine.

I’d sent Boris a number of questions I wanted answers to before I left.

When, I get back, an hour and a bit later, nobody seemingly noticed me gone, Boris tells me she’d sent the questions to ThePonyTail for answers. 

WHAT? Oh? No, I just wanted your opinion. (She wasn't dobbing me into HR, they were questions involving staff benefits)

Of course, HR hadn't come up with any answers.

Early afternoon, I had to post back a purchase to an eBay trader after the merchandise I bought didn’t match what I'd ordered. The seller hadn’t seemed keen, initially, to do the return, and had delayed, but after a strongly worded reply he had coughed up postage, closely followed by a full refund, recently, so I had to do the return. 

So, I popped off to the post office. Of course, all the counters were busy with people sending Xmas presents to family for the next 10 years, possibly on Mars it was taking so long. So, there was a wait. And plenty of time to listen to The Rolling Stones in my headphones.

After I'd finally got to the counter and bought my stamp, I did some window shopping. Nyr! What's the rush, I thought. Summer is in the air.

Then I signed off at 3.20pm. Oh, come on, I started at 6am.

It’s hot, it’s muggy, having walked the dogs on their normal walk, and now stopped at the supermarket, I’m sticky. What do they call it, close? Is that when your closes stick to you? Or is it when the air becomes thicker? Shrug? The weather is kind of warm.

It’s kind of grey, overcast, but it’s not cold, which is nice. A welcome turn around in the temperature.

The dogs and I are waiting outside the supermarket. Sam shops. We seem to go to the supermarket every day. I’d like to say can’t we organise a few less supermarket excursions and a little more 'stocking up'? But, I don’t wanna have to have any responsibility for buying food, that’s just shit, nobody wants to do that on a regular basis. So, I can’t really argue about going to the supermarket less than every day, if that’s what Sam wants to do, if I’m not prepared to, er, make decisions about our menu. Does that make sense? I think it’s a bit boring this every day at Woolies, but, what can you do? That’s how it is.

The dogs have their tongues out, panting away. They walked okay, not too many protests, not too much sniffing along the way.

And now we’re here. It feels like a little hint of summer in the air.

I avoid one of my dog walking friends, as I'm just not feeling it today. (Let's face it, I'm not feeling it most days, which leaves me wondering sometimes if I'll end up a lonely old man one day?)

An orange scooter loaded up to the hilt, I think is the expression, with shopping takes off. Boom! Bang! Crash! Over the gutter. I feel for his arse, um, er, chuckle, that wouldn’t be the first time.

A car turns into the side street nearly running down the pedestrians crossing the road. So many people behind the wheel don't seem to understand that drivers must give way to pedestrians. Do you know, drivers have argued with me about it on more than one occasion. Learn your road laws is usually the last thing I say to them.

A super tall black woman, with a lime green velvet hat perched on the very top of her head waits for the traffic to stop so she can cross the road. A super tall black guy stands next to her, giving her suspicious side eye, at the same time he is holding the, um, er, material of the front of his shorts, like he's… well, I guess you know like what? And if his super tall stature is anything to go by, I’m surprised he isn’t holding it out further.

A guy comes and stands right next to me and talks on his phone, oh, swallow him up planet, is all I can think. And as he struggles at the edge of the sink hole, grabbing at the side with the earth crumbling in his clawing fists, I’d do nothing but stare. Would I step on his fingers, no, I don’t think I would. The thought made me chuckle, though. He must have felt the wave of displeasure emanating from me, though, as he gives me a look, and then pads away up the street pretty quickly.

Smith Street is really kind of quiet for an afternoon, though. There aren’t many people around. It is like the punters are away because of the public holiday, maybe, you know, they’ve taken a long, long weekend, which, of course, is possible. 

Or, are they just worn out after the big grand final, and they are still recovering at home, in detox, a gutter some place? Who knows?

I don’t know.

But, I think summer is coming. It’s the first time this year I’ve felt that. It's nice. I close my eyes and can feel myself mentally stripping off and feeling the sun on my skin. That lovely warm glow one gets when a perfect sunny day warms your exposed skin. I feel a chill down my spine in anticipation.

Eating At The Vic Market

We walked to The Victoria Market and ate Indonesian food. I had beef ribs, Sam had a Bali chicken dish. My beef was oddly sweet, so when Sam asked to swap halfway through our meals, as he always does, I said yes, instead of my usual no. And I had his chicken, which I much preferred. I'm not a good food sharer, as a rule.

Afterwards, we walked into the market and bought jam doughnuts. The queue was long. I stood with a nice girl and we chatted the whole way around the snaking line. We marvelled at how quickly the queue grew behind us and wondered if we'd pushed in somehow, she having joined the queue moments before I did, but we decided that we probably didn't push in.

She grew up in Brunswick, but now lives near the airport. Her kids have grown up and left home. She and her husband have just spent 4 weeks in Sicily. He was waiting off to the side as she queued. She had a Cavoodle which originally had been her son's, but when he moved out of home he left the dog with her.

We both had childhood memories of the doughnut caravan coming to the market as kids. She said it must have been when she was very young, her family used to shop at the market coming from Brunswick. I remember the people in the crowd all being taller than me. My mum used to bribe me, if I came to the market with her, she'd buy me hot jam doughnuts when we were done. I remember getting sugar all over myself in the car.

She reminded me so much of my friend Loli, and it was so easy to chat to her until we got to the caravan window and made our purchases. Dare I say, she made the, kind of, long wait a pleasant experience. I don't always find strangers so easy to talk to. It’s not that I can’t, it is usually because I don’t want to.

Then Sam and I walked home in the sun shine. Up the main road to the gardens, and then through the gardens. It was a nice walk under the blue sky with the sun shining.

And now it's the end of another Sunday – is there a sadder expression in the week – and we're on the verge of Monday again, and I didn't win lotto, nor did I discover that long lost trust account, and I can't write that resignation letter I have all prepared in my head for Boris.

Pity. 

He works from home. He essentially works his own hours. He practically does what he likes, for the most part. And yet he still complains. Sheesh! What will make this guy happy? I ask you?

Ha, ha, there is just no pleasing some people.

A Day In The Country

 

We went to the country, you know, as you do, on a Saturday after a public holiday, and the day of the football grand final to avoid all that nonsense, to the old golf course, which is now a big off-lead dog park. And it is gloriously unspoilt.

The dogs seemed to come in twos all day. Two Golden Retrievers. Two glorious Border Collies. Two golden Vizslas. Two black Labradors. Two Aussie Shepherds. And later away from the wide open spaces. Two red Corgis. Two jet black Dachshunds. Two apricot and white King Charles Spaniels.

Nice view from here, was scrawled on one of the four chairs set in a row to enjoy the view in the photo. I wished I'd had a sharpie to pen a reply on the arm of that chair, but I didn't. The hill getting to that point was so steep it certainly gave our carves a decent workout.

It was nice to sit after the climb.

Friday Public Holiday Before The Grand Final

It takes me some time after breakfast before I realise Sam isn't working today. 

What are we going to do?

We walk into the city kind of late morning. We’re heading to the city to get haircuts. Halfway in and we suddenly remember that there’s a football parade, today being the AFL grand final public holiday, after all. We both realise that we don’t really know what route through the city the football parade takes.

“Is it before the grand final,” says Sam.

“Is it after the grand final,” I say. 

We both shrug. We both laugh.

“We should know this,” says Sam.

“Being from Melbourne,” I say.

I start to google it as we walk. I get the answer that it starts at Melbourne Park, where the hell is Melbourne Park, I think. I should know where Melbourne Park is, shouldn’t I? I asked Sam if he knows where Melbourne Park is, he just shrugs. We both laugh, what kind of Melburnians are we? We both ask? But then I remember I do know where Melbourne Park is, it’s where all the sporting arenas are in Swan Street that used to be public land for everyone to play sport on, which is now the Tennis Centre and the Football Centre. 

“Doesn’t Collingwood have its home ground there?” I say more as a question.

It was all essentially public land that is now private land that private corporations make money from. That always seemed outrageous to me that they took away public land for everybody to use and gave it to corporations who really only essentially cater for the middle class to upper class. 

Anyway, it said something about Toyota HiLux and Melbourne Park Precinct to Birrarung Marr, over the William Barak Bridge, wherever the hell that is and into the MCG Yarra Park Precinct. Something about AFL’s free Macca’s Footy Fest blah, blah, blah, yap, yap, yap, but none of it really seemed like where we were going, so we kept walking. 

Sam kept commenting on the grey clouds in the sky, he thought it looked like it was gonna rain. Sam thought it looked like it was gonna rain all the way into the city.

And then we get to Bourke Street, and it does start to rain. Sam goes in for a haircut and I go to sit on the normal seat that I sit on when Sam’s having first haircut. 

A guy comes and sits next to me eating a pie, so you can imagine how excited the Bulldogs got over the pie and they sat and stared at him, but he said that he didn’t mind, in fact he kinda liked it. But the rain got stronger, and there were rain drops on my phone screen, and even if it was still not all that heavy, Brun and Otto and I seek out shelter out of the rain.

So, we’re standing just a little bit away from the guy and his pie, and when he’s finished, he comes over and gives the dogs the gravy that’s left in the bottom of his pie's plastic bag after which he walks off. Not too long after, Otto throws up and I wonder about the guy and his pie gravy. But I watched him eat the pie, he ate the pie himself, so I figured it was okay. Of course, Brun lapped up Otto‘s vomit, as dogs do, they are just delightful. A girl walking up Bourke Street covered her eyes dramatically and looked away when she saw Brun eat the sick. 

But then it was my turn to have a haircut, and I didn’t say anything to Sam because he would tell me off for letting the stranger give the dogs food. Oh, I thought to myself as I settled into the hairdresser's chair, if the meat the stranger gave to the dogs was poisoned, Brun was the one most likely to drop dead in front of Sam, without Sam having any idea why? I grimaced to myself at the thought. Perhaps, I should have said something?

Ugly, but cute hairdresser guy is not available, he’s already cutting someone else’s hair. Damn it. I like him to cut my hair. I get some young guy with fire engine red hair. A fat, little Asian boy who was trying very hard to be trendy, but not really succeeding.

I gazed at ugly but cute guy across the other side of the salon and wished he was cutting my hair. He doesn’t talk, which I admire in a hairdresser. I don’t go in for endless chat, when I am getting a trim. I have to say though, chubby trendy kid didn’t speak either, so gold elephant stamp for him too.

Less than 15 minutes and I’m out.

I tell Sam about the guy and the pie, as Otto gack, gack, gacks again and Sam tells me off.

“I watched the guy eat the pie himself,” I say. “Before he gave them the last bits.”

“It doesn’t matter,” says Sam.

Five minutes later, we’re down Bourke Street and Sam goes to JBHi-Fi to get games he has ordered.

A guy comes walking up the street in big, white, linen shorts and great, tanned, muscular legs, looking like a super model. He had big dick energy the way he strode up, and if the size of his thighs was anything to go by… He heads into JBHiFi too.

The police station is just by JBHi-Fi, and there’s a lot of well built young policeman walking up and down the street in dark blue. They walk past and they smile at the bulldogs. Handsome faces, square jawlines. I think the dark blue suits them. Strapped in, and padded up. Do you think that outfit was designed by a gay man, because it makes them look very sexy, which is how gay men would want their policeman to look.

The Bulldogs lie stretched out on the paving. They do look adorable, stretched out next to each other.

The rain has stopped, and it’s still kind of warm, really, nice and warm, but overcast, cloudy, grey skies. 

There are a lot of people in footy apparel, because footy apparel is a sickness from which a lot of people suffer. Although, admittedly, today would be the day for it. So many teams seem to be represented in what people are wearing, I can’t even guess what teams are playing in the final tomorrow. 

There seems to be the Cats, and the Lions, and the Blues, and the Crows, and the Kangaroos, and the Bears? Is there a team called the Bears? Ha, ha, I know there is no team called the Bears, I'm just being irreverent in the home city of AFL. So, I have no idea who are actually playing in the Grand Final.

There are a lot of people walking up and down Bourke Street. It’s busy. Fat woman in big T-shirts and giant shorts with stippley white legs walk past. Fat men in shorts and socks and crocs with arses bigger than they should be walk past. Guys and girls, and husbands and wives, and mothers and fathers, and kids, and friends, and bags over shoulders, and back packs, and baskets, and leather jackets, and beanies, and scarves, and woollen coats, and shorts, and handsome blokes, and pretty chicks. There are fat people and thin people, and tall people and short people. Prams full of shopping, and prams full of little humans, bags, and coats, and jackets, slung over the handles of the prams. And a guy in shorts with scaffolding on his right leg walking up the hill. That’s gotta hurt, I think. And a girl with, what I call, a moon boot, I think it is called a moon boot, that which is prescribed for broken limbs, hobbling down the hill.

The Bulldogs don’t care they just make themselves comfortable. People smile at them as they walk past.

I’m even a bit hot sitting here in my Hoodie.

The smell of cigarette smoke wafts past in the air.

There is someone squawking somewhere.

People seem to wander the streets without a care. 

I look at the not-quite-right-woman squawking and try not to stare.

She looks like a footy tragic, her life empty except for teams the only thing about which she cares.

A young guy, with voluminous curly brown hair, walks past holding his girlfriend’s hand. He looks over at me and smiles. It’s a I-like-your-cute-dogs smile, I know that look anywhere.

Sam reappears. We gotta go, he says.

Swanson Street is busy. Many people look at the Bulldogs and smile. A crazy man walks down Swanston Street at speed yelling at no one in particular.

Half an hour and we’re in Melbourne Central eating Indian at Chile India, where we slip into one of the laneways in Melbourne Central and eat. 

A mother and her daughter stop and pat the bulldogs. The daughter repeatedly says the Bulldogs are beautiful.

We ate Goat Biriani and a Special Dosa. It is nice to sit and feel the breeze and watch the people walk by.

An hour later, we’re walking home. The footpath is busy in Latrobe Street, super busy, it is a struggle to keep the short four legged guys out of harm's way. There is a collection of fire engines parked one after the other. There is a group of fireman, the sexiest profession according to multiple polls, dressed in firemen outfits. Straw coloured, with yellow reflective stripes around the ankles, wrists and shoulders. Not sure why so many of them. I presume they are not posing for a calendar? They seem to be looking inside a door in the side of Melbourne Central.

I drop into JBHIFI, just for a look, but I don’t look for long. I can’t believe the vinyl has really taken over. The CD section has been reduced down to nearly nothing. What is the fascination with vinyl, the sound is inferior and the cost is mind boggling. $70, $80, $100 for each record. It just seems ridiculous. Is it all a part of the push towards conservatism that is infecting the world, I wonder.

We cross Swanston Street, at the big mall cross walk. People jay walk on the red light in front of us. I am all for jay walking if the street is clear. We don't because the four legged guys can be unpredictable. 

We see the new Underground station entrance now coming to life. I wonder if they are going to build onto of the, essentially, single story structure.

"Surely, they are," says Sam. "In such a prominent position and all."

We head up La Trobe Street, past the State Library, the footpath is busy with punters. 

We walk through the Carlton Gardens. The sun comes out, dappled on the ground.

A paramedic van pulls up outside the Foodworks near home. A male paramedic gets out of the driver’s seat. A female Paramedic gets out of the passenger seat. Brun stops on the foot path and gazes at the two of them.

“Come on Brun,” I say.

The handsome male paramedic in shorts steps over to Brun and says, “Hey there Brun, how are you.” He pats Brun under the chin. Then he smiles at me and walks away.

It has taken us about half an hour and we’re home. And it is still only Friday, I think, even if it feels like Saturday, and you have to love that. I don't have to connect back into the salt mines as quickly as it feels.

We drink coffee and eat chocolate covered Scotch Finger Biscuits.

I Call A Meeting Of The Full Coven

Last thing in the day, It is the dreaded HR meeting. They all turned up, it was like a meeting of the full coven. The Pony Tail was there, with a pony pulled back so tight, she did look a bit ‘other species’. Fish Face turned up for the first time ever, looking tanned and bleached to the max. Fat boy Nick Watson was there. Taylor Swift was present. And all the minions. 

Only, Little Buddy was missing, but I think he is off on leave, be it of the stress variety, or another, well, he was looking a wreck at the last breakfast that I saw him.

Jasus, this must be serious, I thought, when I saw them all.

The newbies were there, all of them. They have an endless range of titles for themselves. HR Business Partner, or HR Magnificence, seems to be the newest. 

How many witches does it take to run one coven? I thought to myself. The HR chicks are multiplying like a virus in a pandemic. Did I hear an English voice, and an Irish voice, they seem to love an overseas worker, that’s for sure. I never really know why, as they usually turn out to know the least of anyone. (And that's saying something)

I’ve never seen Natasha Frump from Perth before, well, I mean she was only with us for 6 months and she was off on breading leave. And it is a long way away, after all. Big chin, bulbous nose, she truly shouldn’t breed, again. And did I detect a Slavic accent? Perhaps she is a spy? A bot? Perhaps, she’s not in Perth at all, it is such a long way away to check, after all, but is in a Russian call centre, the thought made me chuckle to myself. Thunk you, Natasha, this is the latest intel...

The bitches got their chance to, well, bitch. What they do best. Go on, get it all off your chests, ladies. They don’t feel like it should always be them to fix things. They don’t always feel the communication is two way, it comes from them, of course. They are always there to help, they’d like to feel that it is reciprocated. You know you can always come to us… said the spider to the fly. Yap, yap, yap. I’ve never known a group to hold onto grievances like this lot.

Do I have any issues? No, no I don’t. I wanted to say, unlike you cows, I deal with issues at the time of the issue and then I let it go. I don’t have any issues with any of you, other than the crap of which you might accuse any one of us at any given time.

Anyway, I’d lost focus by the end. Otto had been a dog looking for trouble all day. So, at the beginning of the meeting, I gave him one of his chew toys he hadn’t chewed for a while, and throughout the meeting he happily chewed that toy on the couch next to me. But, you know, as with anything HR it went on and on and on and on, and before it was all over, he’d started pulling the couch apart.

And then the meeting was over. Of course, they felt it went well, as they got to vent. And suddenly all their screens clicked off, seemingly all at once, like Endora throwing her hands up in the air and disappearing. 

And Otto looked up at me from the dismantled couch, with his big, stupid tongue hanging out his mouth. Big fun, is what the expression on his face said. If he’d spoken to me at that point like Scooby-Doo I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Wednesday

It makes me laugh every morning when I sign in with theponytailisascrag69. Chuckle. Oh, I know, small things, but really, if you can have a laugh every morning, surly you are doing better than most people?

No sooner had I signed in, it seemed, and David called me.

"I'm awake," he says, like he should get some kind of award. He is up before midday, he doesn't know why, but he feels strangely alive. He tells me he made coffee and emptied his dishwasher at the same time, he does, after all, run his dishwasher every night even if it only has a plate and a cup in it. 

"I'm not washing dishes," David tells me, like the suggestion is absolutely absurd.

I wonder if anyone truly thinks we are going to survive as a species?

He's going to spend the day watching friends.

They are the two disparate thoughts going through my head this morning as I sign into work and pursue my emails.

I laugh to myself about David. I laugh to myself about ThePonyTail. Different laughs. One a nervous laugh, and one a, well, vindictive laugh, let's be honest. (Not that there is anything wrong with that 😁)

6.45am. Sam was up.

“Good morning, honey.”

Grunt.

“How are you?”

Grunt.

And the day was in full swing.

Last day of the week, I tell myself. Just that meeting with HR at the end of it, I shudder with anticipation. 

Oh, now what was it? They wanted to discuss the communication between departments. Clarification, they want to bitch how they don't believe they are being treated with the reverence they deserve. Was that it? Well, that is what I heard. I'm sure that was it. They don't feel they are getting the first class respect they think, nay, they know they deserve. That's it, isn't it? Yep, that's it.

Tuesday

I'm up early. Yay. I'm getting stuck into work. Good for me. At least it's getting lighter in the mornings. Oh god, I'm bored! I want to send my resignation to Boris. Four weeks notice. Good bye. Sam would be pleased about that.

The problem is, that if I quit, I would just sit around and do nothing, I know that. I am such a lazy bastard, and that would please Sam twice as much.

Nyr!

Thinking about yesterday and all that nonsense from Boris… understanding people. They are a fucken mystery! Generally. Often. Did I ever understand them? Yeah, sure. Friends, I understand them. Not people I work with, normally. They are a fucken mistery.

My mum used to tell me, “You have a very good brain, Christian, you see things more clearly than other people, you just have to accept that you do.” I hear my mum’s voice when people frustrate me. “Take a breath, Christian, give them time to catch up.”

You know, sometimes I wonder if mum was blowing smoke up my arse, and really, I'm just a dumb cunt, and she was preparing me for a life time of continual disappointment. 

I wish mum was here, we could have a good laugh about that thought. (I got my black sense of humour from her) 

Maybe, I am in a straightjacket in a padded cell, somewhere, dribbling and repeatedly banging my head against a wall and I just don't realise, and that’s why I find people so annoying.

Cinnamon Bloggs isn’t going to get better, she is a single mother who has a slow degenerative disease. Apparently, she has a daughter who isn’t completely 100% as well and who needs therapy of some sort. Sucks to be you, Cinnamon. Just goes to show once again, life isn’t fair.

I’m thankful I have been lucky in just about every aspect of my life. (Is this when you say, touch wood?)

Now, just off topic, I think I can hear Milo chomping on a rat in the hallway. I can hear his jaw breaking bones even from here. Er! He uses the hallway as his dining table to eat the vermin he catches.

Anyway, back to work.

Later, I get the pan and shovel and sweep up the rat carcass, or what is left of it.

Later than that, I discover the rat’s head, or what is left of it, when I step on it.

Even later, Cinnamon Blogs emails me with her explanation, and an apology. I wanted to email her and say no apology was needed, but she’d cc’d in all the managers too. 

Later again, I email Cinnamon and just say thanks.

Monday

And now it is Monday morning, and it is cold and raining. Welcome to Monday morning. Cold and wet. 

Nyr.

I pulled everything together, I got it all done.

I question one of my colleagues who got stuff they sent to me wrong. I sent her an email asking her to clarify what she'd done. Unbeknownst to me, I was working off emails that excluded her original explanation of her work.

I cc'd in the other managers she had cc'ed in when she emailed me.

Then I found her original email at the beginning of the email chain, and I sent her a follow up email summarising what I understood she had sent to me.

Again, I cc'd in the other managers she had cc'ed in when she emailed me.

The next thing, I get a phone call from Boris giving me the impression that it was considered by those above me, I was stressing the colleague out who, apparently, is very sick.

I'd heard somewhere along the line that she has a serious medical condition, but I didn't know she was particularly sick from it at present.

She has been working all sorts of overtime, filling in for her boss who is away on holidays, so how sick is she?

I simply asked her to explain the work she had done.

"Really? What?" I said to Boris. "This is just asking her to make some stuff clear, why would this stress her out?"

"We can't be stressing her out."

"I didn't even know she was sick?"

"Please send any other emails like this to me first," said Boris.

Oh? What? "Sure," I said. Do you mean just to Cinnamon, or to everyone? I didn't ask? I let it go. 

What? Sometimes I just don't understand people's thinking? Or maybe even want to understand it. It makes feel like I just want to pack it in and do something else. You know, go do something else.

I don't know, am I over reacting? I'm not sure?

Is it just because it is Monday?

Er, Mondays.

Sunday

(This is an excerpt from my journal)

6.30am. We were both up, which makes a change. Normally, it is just me up first.

Sam dreamed that he was in a public toilet in Asia and he had to scoop the water to flush the toilet and the water was full of poo and he was dipping his arm into the water to collect it to flush the toilet and the poo was going all up his sleeve up his arm. 

"It was disgusting," he said, as his face screwed up.

Sam blamed the still sound asleep bulldogs for his poor sleep. They just naturally speed out across our bed when we get out.

7am. I make coffee.

I read The Guardian.

Tony Abbott implores Cpac to give Liberals ‘one last chance’ and condemns party’s ‘factional warlords’. (But, isn’t he a factional warlord?) Former PM, Jacinta Nampijinpa Price and conference chair Warren Mundine among right faction heavyweights urging conservative voters to unite. (all the religious, conservative geniuses)

Why is Trump so obsessed with Jimmy Kimmel and US late-night TV shows? From JFK to Bill Clinton, US presidents have long accepted the relentless punchlines of late-night hosts as part of the job – until now.

‘The devil is not gonna win’: how Charlie Kirk became a Christian nationalist martyr. The rightwing pundit’s meteoric career was in some ways a microcosm of the rise of Trump-era Christian nationalism.

7:40am. I make Vegemite toast, the breakfast of champions.

7:47am. Otto and Brun were both up.

I watch YouTube, yes, American politics.

8.20am. I make more coffee, despite Sam forbidding me to. Oh, that’s okay, he always forbids me when I want more coffee, and I always ignore him. It is the secret to a long and happy relationship, give and take.

9am. I vacuum. Of course I do, it is Sunday, after all. Sam starts to dust, which is the first sign on my life of leisure Sunday coming to an end and the start of my housework.

9.30am. I finish vacuuming. I have stopped using the LG stick vacuum, it is a total piece of rubbish. I’ve gone back to the full sized Dyson, it works.

I watch YouTube clips on hagsploitation movies. All the old movie dames in their late career films. Oh, so many of them. Lauded, and acclaimed movie starts in Monsters from the Deep, Trog, Flesh Feast, or Die Die My Darling. I contemplate buying a few to add to my movie collection. Admittedly, I already own a few of them. What movie collection is complete without them, I ask you?

I order an old Tallulah Bankhead movie from eBay.

From Instagram, something just catch in your emotions.

John Movido (1959 - 1984) was known as Robbie Leonetti in the adult film industry. Kent Schlesselmann (Kurt Detrick) had given him the name “Robbie” because of his likeness to 70’s heartthrob Robby Benson.

Though I told everyone I was 18, I met John in 1982, when I was only 17. I was on the streets and without family. John quickly turned into an older brother, advising me to quit hustling on the street; becoming my advisor as he guided me through the perplexing world of escorting in Los Angeles.

John was an extremely intelligent, kind, and giving person. He helped me become known, introducing me to many people, pre-qualifying many “clients”, protecting me from the scoundrels who took advantage of us.

In 1983 I noticed John had a lingering cold and cough that persisted without end. By the fall of that year, it was clear to both of us he had this new “Gay disease” that had killed so many of our friends.

Although many of my friends died on the street, outcasts from society, John went home to his family and passed away in 1984.

Though the adult film industry is an almost upward career move today; to me it’s ubiquity makes it stale and uninteresting.

Back in the early 1980’s, it was unforgiving, and most of us who got into it came from broken homes. We were the disposable ones, discarded and unloved; most of our families were torn apart by drug abusing parents, and many of us were molested in Boys’ Homes or by family members.

But we were valuable, they deserved better than they received. Everyone counts or no one counts.

I loved you John – you were my mentor, and my friend. Thank you for sharing your life with me” 📖 by the late Shawn Mayotte

Late morning, I have a shower and get ready to meet the day.

Midday, We leave the house with the Bulldogs. I call Andrew back because I have ignored his two calls this morning. It’s a game, as he demands that I answer his every phone call, so I ignore some of them, just because I can, often sending him text messages about a witch cackling. He says he can’t speak to me when I’m walking the dogs, so I hang up on him.

We were heading to Brunswick Street to eat Mexican, but we so often eat Mexican, so we got distracted.

A leisurely walk later, we’re on the corner of Victoria Street, eating at the dumpling place. 

“What do you think?” asks Sam.

“I don’t care?” shrug. “I don’t care.” Helpful, I know.

It is cold and windy and kind of unpleasant, as their outside tables are out in the open. I suggest we get up and head to Mexican, as it has a plastic screen shielding us from the worst of the inclement weather.

Nyr? We were sitting by the stage and we had menus, so we decided to make the best of the less than ideal conditions and we stay put.

I’m persisting with the new Apple journal to dictate my journal, but I am having trouble making it work. “This app is crap. It keeps doing weird things.” Sam had insisted on my using an Apple product, him being a total Apple nut.

It is grey and seemingly threatens to rain the whole time we eat, but it doesn’t actually rain. A couple of times we may have thought we felt to drop, but we didn’t.

There are lots of girls with their boyfriends in pale grey track pants, which tend to show a lot more than darker track pants. There is a parade of them. Strapping guys.

We ate steamed dumplings and fried dumplings and Santo ate noodles as well.

An hour later, we’re finished eating and we head off.

We turn into Johnston Street to go to Smith Street and the supermarket.

The day is grey, and overcast, the skies all shades of grey. The cold wind blows also.

Not long after, Brun, Otto, and I are awaiting outside Woolies whilst the Santo shops.

Brun lies in the doorway of Woolies initially, until I move him.

“You can’t lie there,” I say, as I move him away from the door. A girl walking in makes a sympathetic moan in Brun’s defence.

The older Asian chick who walks up and down the footpath in front of Woolies is walking up and down the footpath in front of Woolies. She keeps a committed vigil, up and down the footpath all day.

A tall handsome guy in black track pants and a black Hoodie takes a photo of the Bulldogs. They often try to take photos surreptitiously, like he did. “So cute,” he says when he sees me looking at him. So are you, I think.

I watch a friend and her dog walk up. Brun has a bark at him initially. I don’t know why? It is out of character for him. Perhaps Brun was asleep and was startled. I don’t know what else to say that’s really unusual for him, in fact, he has never done that before. My friend pats his head and says, “What’s up with you?”

Twenty minutes later, Sam reappears.

Not long after that, we’re home.

We change into track pants and comfy hoodies and get our devices and take up our position on the couches, things that had to be done, now were done

I read about the many, many people cancelling their Disney, HuLu and ESPN subscriptions over the treatment of Jimmy Kimmel.

I fell down the Facebook rabbit hole for a while. I saved historic photos of Melbourne. It is so seductive scrolling on Facebook, not my feed, or my friends feed, but the Reels, from cute guys dressed in very little more often than not flexing their muscles, to singing stars, Benson Boone, Bette Midler, Patti LaBelle, comedians, Matt Rife, Anthony Jeselnik, Will Burkart, Josh Wolf, talk shows, the advice collum guys, and The Golden Girls.  It can keep you, er, me hooked, if I am not careful. So much time to waste.

I lay on the couch looking at my laptop, while Sam slept on the couch with the bulldogs for most of the afternoon.

I watched firemen and policemen dance to Blurred Lines.

I watch guys in brightly colour clothes dance to Paloma Blanca

I listen to Kenneth Williams. I could listen to him indefinitely. One of the funniest men who ever lived.

I read about the movie Plainclothes, Russel Tovey and Tom Blyth. Tom Blyth is super cute. It is a story about undercover cops entrapping gay men in public spaces until one of the cops has an attraction for one of his victims. You have me straight away with that story line.

I tried to find out if Tom Blyth is gay in real life like Russel Tovey, but I didn’t seem to manage to find that out. Here’s hoping.

Midafternoon, the rain fell down. A lot of rain fell.

I watched one of my favourite car YouTubers with his Model T Ford.

We ate teriyaki chicken for dinner.

We watched Amazing Race. The cute red boys got eliminated. The Parcor boys. I couldn’t work out if they were brothers, or not, either way, I wanted to see them do a little action on each other.

We watched 60 Minutes, Indian national Prabha Arun Kumar died after being stabbed multiple times in the neck by a person dressed in black while walking home alone through Parramatta on the night of March 7, 2015. Ms Kumar was then taken to Westmead Hospital but died the following day.

We watched Charlie Sheen 8 years sober who has written a memoir. He’s always had the gift of the gab, as they say. He was very appealing in the interview.

I finished watching Mortske and his 1926 T model ford.

10.48pm. It was time for bed.

Saturday

(This is an excerpt from my journal)

I dreamed we were running up, I think, Commercial Road, with dogs. I had two dogs, naturally, and the guy I was running with had his own dog. The dogs were running ahead at speed, we were running to catch up. It was dark, night. We seemed to be racing somewhere. It was go, go, go, as if we were racing against time.

The old golden gay mile, that is no longer. Maybe, we were running with dogs to find all the gay people?

5.25am. I’m up. Again, it seemed like we’d arrived at Saturday morning in no time at all. I’m having the space time continuum looked into. There is no doubt a conservative plot afoot.

I empty the dishwasher. I make coffee.

While I have had a sore wrist for weeks after picking Brun up one handed onto the couch, now I feel like I have arthritis in my hand. WTF!

I read The Guardian.

Liberal MPs speak up about ‘disturbing’ Advance campaign against ‘mass immigration’. Several MPs say the activist group’s advertising push is becoming a problem for the party because ‘you cannot win from the margins’.

The former prime minister Tony Abbott, an Advance board member, has also used a number of platforms to argue against “mass immigration” in recent months. “Australia has flourished as a country with a predominantly Anglo-Celtic culture and a country with an overwhelmingly Judeo-Christian ethos. They are both precious. “They have to be preserved, and no one should come to Australia without an expectation of living in an Anglo-Celtic culture, with the Judeo-Christian ethos. And we’ve got to be crystal clear about that.”

Oh fuck me, they never give up on this Jesus shit, now do they. Maybe 70 years ago there was a Judeo-Christian ethos, but not anymore, not in modern Australia.

Outgoing MI6 chief says Putin has ‘bitten off more than he can chew’ in Ukraine. Richard Moore, known within MI6 as C, said Russia was unlikely to win on battlefield, as his agency launched call to recruit spies.

Dozens of workers disciplined, and fired, after Charlie Kirk shooting, from journalists to Jimmy Kimmel. Employers and officials are cracking down on comments considered ‘inappropriate’ after far-right activist was killed.

Free speech is dead in America. Conservatives? Who'd vote for them?

6.57am. Sam was up. He said when he went for a wee in the middle of the night, when he went back to bed Ollie was in the bed. Ollie looked up as if to say, “Ha, I’m here.”

7.15am. Otto was up.

7.30am. Brun was up.

7.40am. I make Vegemite toast.

8am. Brun has diarrhoea. The sun shines outside. We had to clean Brun’s arse with baby wipes.

8.10am. Sam makes coffee.

8.25am. 

Mark:

Hey ho Chriso... how is you?

I've just realised, as I sit here on the toilet with stomach cramps, god knows why, that there is not one day that goes by without some sort of fucking ailment... not one fucking day

You:

Well, A few weeks ago, I lifted Brun up onto the couch one handed and strained my wrist and it has been sore for weeks. And now for some reason, I feel like I have arthritis of that hand, but other than that I'm chipper

You:

Sam is singing, "Don't you wish your girlfriend was hot like me," in the kitchen

Mark:

Oh, join the club, my hands are so stiff that I can hardly make a fist, and my right thumb catches and clicks when I move it.

Oh, to be serenaded in the morn... lovely

You:

I can barely make a fist with my right hand either. Well, I can, but it hurts

You:

But, you know, spring is here and the sun is shining, and the world is quite lovely, so, you know, that is what we have to think about, don't you reckon?

You:

and the days are getting warmer

Mark:

Oh yes, conversely, I am in heaven, spring has definitely sprung up here, it was 28 deg yesterday, spent most of the day mowing, finishing off with a swim in the creek, absolute bliss tits... so yes, life is good atm, and ailments are in the minor category, but still an anoyment.

You

The looks like a huge expanse of flat grass (the reason I said this is that his property is quite hilly)

Mark sends me two photos of perfectly manicured lawn from his place, down by the river.

Mark:

It is....

Every time I'm down there i get surprised just how beautiful it is, especially in the late afternoon when the sun and its golden glow is filtering through the trees....

I go back to the internet. Somewhere in my viewing, someone uses the expression, She’s as big as a whale, and we’re about to set sail.

I can’t remember the context I read it in, but it started developing in my head.

“She’s as big as a whale, and we’re about to set sail," said Brian standing at the end of the bed. He dropped his pants, and played with his pecker through his tighty whities. He gazed down at Cheryl, who was only wearing a transparent lace camisole, which barely contained her enormous breasts. Her giant areolas pushed against the thin, transparent material. Her huge, hairy muff on full display.

“Come on Brian,” slurred Cheryl. “I’m good, and ready.” She slid one hand down to her bush. Her pointer finger disappeared out of sight. She squeezed her bulbous thighs together seemingly in anticipation. Her lips pursed together, and her eyes squeezed shut, as if her face was made from play dough, flushed scarlet. Her stripes of bright blue eye shadow contracting with her blushing complexation.

Brian dropped his tighty whities to the floor, and made a flying leap onto the bed.

“Oh Brian,” Cheryl exclaimed.

“Chery, Cheryl, Cherylyn, ho ho,” Brian yodelled.

Cheryl laughed uncontrolably.

9.30am. I make more coffee.

I start watching Tasty Classics and his 1953 Plymouth. He’s getting it ready for a mates wedding.

11am. I watered the back garden. Clearly, the warmer weather is here. Suddenly all my pot plants were as dry as a bone. I gave them all a big drink, really, the first post winter. Flowers are blooming. All the plants now have new growth.

11:56am. We walked the Bulldogs to Lygon Street. The son is out (Oh my dictation is a trick), as all sons should be, er, sun is out and shining down beautifully to tell you the truth.

We walk through the Carlton Gardens. Someone’s put pink dye in the big fountain and graffitied on the fountain itself. It’s now roped off to the public. Later, we would see on the news it had something to do with Gaza protests, presumably, the red water was symbolic of spilt blood.

12:25pm. We’re sitting at 114 Lygon Street Martabak Pecenongan 78 eating lunch. Sam has gone into order.

12.27pm. The waiter comes out with a water dish for the Bulldogs, “thank you.”

“Would you like two?” 

“No one will be fine.” 

She seems quite amused by the two of them. 

“Just let me know if you want more water.”

“Sure,” I say.

I get my noodles and onion soup first. Sam’s meal didn’t arrive while I was eating mine. He ordered from two different places so we couldn’t exactly, um, complain, er, be annoyed, um, expect any different, I guess. Eventually, his meal arrives, it has some sort of stinky fish paste on it, and at first I think one of the dogs has farted when I first smell it.

Otto is very excited. He jumps at a black poodle, that is leaving from a table further up the street. I explain to the poodle’s owner he is still, essentially, a big puppy, they say not to worry about it.

Otto jumps at the chick who takes up her seat sitting at the next table to us. She just reaches out and pats him unperturbed. You can always tell who the ‘dog’ people are. She has headphones on and hair pulled back so severely all of the skin on her face was pulled towards the crown of her head.

Otto jumps at The Hungry Panda guy, all decked out in be-seen-be-safe yellow, seemingly scaring him, so much so, that he walks the long way around back to his bike rather than pass the bulldogs again, we he appears again with his delivery.

The sun came and went. At one point it wasn’t so nice sitting there when the sun had disappeared and the wind had started to blow.

You:

I just saw an honest to God living, breathing fat Monica

David:

What ??? Did you look in the mirror 🤣🤣🤣

You:

She was walking behind her two skinny friends and they all looked at the Bulldogs and she did that look from side to side to see if anyone was, you know, looking at her

David:

🤣🤣🤣 “…you know, looking at her” 🤣🤣🤣

1:01pm. We’re done and we start heading for home. We walk up Lygon Street, avoiding the gelato shop, and down Pelham Street.

We walk through the Carlton Gardens. Spring is in bloom, the trees are all getting their new leaves, all, seemingly, except the elms. The Elms seemed not to be.

“Imagine if they were all dead?” I say.

“What makes you say that?”

“No, I’m not saying that, but with the Elm trees dying all around the world, imagine if all of these had died and had to be removed?”

Sam just looked at me.

Then we saw Elm trees are just starting to get their leaves, tiny dots of bright green can just be seen forming on the branches, if you look closely.

1:21pm. Sam is forcing me to use the Apple Journal app – um, through impassioned debate than any kind of coercive control, you understand – so here I am dictating into a new app as I walk along under the tree in the park. 

Brun is being his usual uncooperative self, stopping walking all the time. I don’t mind him stopping and sniffing, even often, but when he keeps stopping every 5 steps, or so, it really annoying.

We walk all the way down King William Street to Napier Street. I always think it is a shame when I walk down King William Street that those fools in charge in the 1960s pulled down all the houses on one side. Hanover Street, the next street to King William, is worse, they pulled down all the houses on both sides.

I pull down some of those damn Apollo the Cat posters still stuck to light poles. Surly, there could be an argument made that people who post posters all over the suburb when they have a need, when the need is over, they should be made to take them all down again?

1:43pm. We’re home.

We did screens. I watched YouTube. Yes, I sat on the couch, from the time we got home, and watched YouTube. I stopped at one point and thought about what I was doing? All afternoon on the couch glued to my laptop. That’s what I did. What the fuck did I used to do with my days before I became addicted to my laptop and being online? I can’t remember, sad but true.

First up, is to see what gob smacking shit show the Trump administration has evolved into in its latest moves. It is like a car accident that never stops giving. Poor old American, Trump has fucked it up so badly it may never recover.

3.45pm. I started watching Mortske and his 1962 Thunderbird Sports Roadster.

Sam watched Kpop Deamon Hunter. A load of rubbish with an anticipated collective viewing age group of 15 year old girls, I would have thought.

5.32pm. I started watching Mortske and his 1926 Model T.

I completed my Rolling Stones albums. I realised – it was a Doh! Moment, to be sure – that because those first albums repeat songs form one album to another, I don’t, actually, have to have each album, I have all the songs on various other albums, compilations and live albums, and that I just have to make up playlists that represent each of those early albums that I actually don’t have. 

That wasted a good amount of time late in the afternoon.

6pm’ish

You:

Oo! Oo! Red sky at night, er, someone's delight

Mark:

Are there any delighted shepherds outside?

You:

Many delightful shepherds lining up.

👍

Mark:

Well, at least they should come into the kitchen and bake you a pie.

You:

That was meant to mean all with their thumbs up

Mark:

They're known for that.

You:

Shepards pie, hah, hah, hah

Mark:

Indubitably

You:

made with real shepherds

Mark:

No silly, they do the baking, they don't get in the pah.

You:

chuckle

Mark:

4 and 20 shepherds don't get baked in a pie, only blackbirds do that...

We ate beef bulgogi for dinner.

We watched Wednesday (Addams). We binge watch the whole of the second part of the second series. Something good to watch on TV on a Saturday night.

11.11pm. We go to bed.

It Is Still True

It is still true, that none of us are free, until we are all free of bigotry, racism, misogyny, homophobia, poverty, hunger, inequality.

You can choose to look the other way, but it doesn't change anything.

We are all diminished, if some of us are diminished.

People say, particularly where I live, that the problems with society today are inadequate bails laws, when in fact increasing inequality is probably more likely the problem with society today. But very few ever site that as a reason.

Thursday

Okay, so, it is a gorgeous day, the sun is shining, time to throw off the shackles that bind us, er me, and take my favourite K9s for a walk. I bought myself a new Chaka Khan CD, Homecoming, for my birthday, oh yes, it was my birthday recently, so I have that to listen to. Lovely. Time to do nothing, nay, time to do just as I please.

Wednesday

The last day of the week for me.

I had everything done and was ready to sign out, when Boris asked me to correct some system stuff, the same system stuff she'd got me to do when she was away, that she had just done again but somehow she'd messed it up.

What?

Oh Jasus! I've slept since then. I don't remember what I did? I remember I had to break out the instruction book to get it done, at the time. Really?

Nah. You do it, is all I could think. I could smell my weekend it was so close.

No, I really can't remember off the top of my head. I’d have to go back and think about what I did. I'd have to go and do the research again on what to do. No.

And I signed out. With out a skerrick of guilt, I might add at this point.

We take the Bulldogs for a walk. It’s not hot, it’s not cold. It’s just the porridge in the middle.

We turn at the main road. The sky is full of grey clouds, that look like rain clouds now that I look at them, although the son, er, sun is peeking out a little from behind them. (I’m picturing the son peeking from behind the clouds)

Otto growls at the black dog in his front yard, as Otto always does. The two of them spa up and down the black dog's fence. (I kind of know the black dog's owner from the dog park, he is really nice. I saw him recently, he laughed about the two dogs antics)

We’re at the corner of the two side streets we always walk down, which I always, rightly, or wrongly, think is the halfway point of our walk. It’s grey and overcast, although not cold.

We walk through to Smith Street.

The once handsome aboriginal boy, now in a long state of mental decline, is outside Woolies throwing his things around, smashing things up, and dribbling from the mouth. I just don’t know why someone can’t help this guy.

Brun, Otto and I are waiting outside Woolies while Sam shops. They both lie out on the paving at my feet. Even I have to say, they both look adorable when they do that.

A lovely girl stops and pats the bulldogs. She has on a really low cut, electric blue top, which oddly I find rather distracting. Even my eyes seem to be drawn to her ample cleavage, and I wonder how straight boys cope? She says she has a staffy at home, but she’s travelling at the moment and so she misses her dog terribly. As she leaves, she thanks me for letting her pat the dogs. She was really nice.

The woman with the beard, and missing a number of teeth, with the enormous arse, comes out of Woolies leaning heavily on her trolley as she always does. She makes her Jake and the Fatman comments, which she always does.

A (big) boy with wild wavey hair, leaves Woolies in dusty work shorts and the grey T-shirt, wearing explorer socks and leather work boots, the pale leather kind, I always call Cum-Fuck-Me-Boots. He has a great arse on him, which I gaze at as he walks away, diagonally across the road seemingly without a care about oncoming traffic.

Sam reappears.

A guy gives the Bulldogs pastrami off an unwrapped, white paper, deli package as we walk off.  You have to wonder about such things, really, and I’d normally say no, but he was eating pastrami as well, so I figured it was okay. Sam questioned me agreeing to it as we walked off.

“He was eating it too.”

“You can never be too careful.”

“Are you telling me he cunningly had a separate stash of poisoned meat on the same unwrapped paper that he was cleverly avoiding eating himself?”

“You never can tell.”

“He was using the same hand to shovel the meat into his own gob as he was picking it up and giving to me to give to the dogs.”

Brun Otto and I awaiting outside the Bonds shop whilst Sam shops in Coles. Otto walks under my legs and sits between my feet, like, I have to admit, I like him to. He really feels like he is mine when he does that. Does that make sense?

A gorgeous athletic, 20 year old boy with floppy blond hair wearing grey jeans that fit in immaculately walks past. Oh, to be young again, I think wistfully.

A gorgeous Indian girl tries to exit the sliding doors at Coles across the road and they don’t open automatically for her and she looks confused and steps back. Another woman coming from the street enters Coles and activates the sliding doors to open. The gorgeous Indian girl smiles so beautifully at the woman as if to say thank you for opening the doors for me.

Brun is lying in the middle of the footpath, as he likes to do, and, what I am going to call, a Somali woman in a headscarf comes along, hesitates, takes one look at Brun lying there, and turns around and retreats not willing to risk passing a dog on the footpath, apparently.

Sam reappears.

A jogger in tight red shorts that show off his assets perfectly jogs out of the laneway on one side, in front of us, and then jogs down the laneway on the other side, my eyes just naturally watch him go.

And then we’re home. unclipping clips, and emptying bags.

“Your weekend begins,” says Sam.

“It began almost over an hour ago,” I reply.

We ate a lamb kebab wrap with coleslaw for dinner.

We watched Dogs Behaving Very badly. It was the humping bulldog episode.

We watched Shaun Micalef’s Eve of Destruction.

10.40pm. We go to bed.

Charlie Kirk

Charlie Kirk goes to heaven, when he gets there, he finds God is a black woman. Things don’t go well for him from there.

He is sent down to see Matthew Shepard in the gay sauna to work as towel boy in a pair of speedos for eternity.

“Let’s see how that works out for him, shall we.” God chuckles to herself. “Let’s see if that teaches him something about truth and compassion.”

Monday

Monday. Ugh! The weekend went so fast, even my 4 days. I reckon we all just lost a day and none of us realised. Well, that is how it felt. 

Ha ha. Cue the Doctor Who music.

Sunday

We went out for lunch. We ate Korean. It was a glorious day, the sun shone.

We walked through the gardens, everything is starting to flower. Lovely.

There was a dog at the next table to where we were eating, and while Brun and Otto paid some passing interest to it, they didn't really pay it all that much attention.

The chick at the next table never stopped talking the whole time we were there. I reckon she was trying to sell something to her fellow lunch companions, like time share, or a financial investment scheme. Whatever, her yap yap yap was annoying in an annoying, first world kind of way. You know, not really that important, but the constant hum that never let up.

We got gelato after lunch for the walk home.

We came home and fell asleep on the couch for a few hours.

When we woke up, we ate tiramisu and drank terrible lychee drink, you know, as you do.

The sun set in the late afternoon, kind of like a matt finish glow filling the world outside.

I listened to Van Morrison, his first album, Blowin' Your Mind!. It's a cool album. I've been listening to vintage music lately. Old Rolling Stones and Queen.

Sam had a bad back. He took lots of pain killers and complained a lot.

Oh, what a lazy fucking weekend, blissfully so. Nothing like lazy relaxing to regenerate the soul.

Saturday

I finished up my back yard cleanup this morning. Otto and I played amongst the bins and my spades full of debris being spread across the garden, well, it is all organic and I was trying to put as little as I could in the green bin. The green bin seems to be a contradiction in terms in my opinion. Am I wrong?

Anyway, I continued with my Queen kick on my head phones as Otto and I cleaned up. Otto chewed. I swept.

The dogs both got showers.

We walked to Carlton under a very grey sky for most of the way. It was warm, though, and despite the look of things, I didn't really think it was going to rain, despite the weather over the last few days. And it didn't rain.

I wondered what they'd do to the cactuses after they had shot flowers with stems, bigger than the cactuses themselves, metres into the sky? I was surprised to see it was this drastic

We both ate Nasi Lemak, I had it with Beef Rendang, Sam had his with chicken. 

It was really quiet in Carlton today, unusually quiet. Of course, all the hate protests were happening in the CBD, the racists, and the white supremacists and the pro Palestinians and the anti Palestinians, with a huge police presence expected to keep the pros and the antis apart. 

And maybe - and definitely I am surprised that I am actually going to say this - it might be time to ban protests if the CBD is going to be turned into a war zone every weekend. Of course, I don't really mean that about banning protests, but you have to wonder.

Sam suggested open warfare could probably scare people away from the CBD, but I'd suggest that, if anything, surely that would make the CBD periphery busier with people looking for somewhere that wasn't the CBD. 

But, it was unusually quiet, not that I mind that, you know how more people can just be annoying, and I guess Sam was possibly right.

It was sunny when we wandered home, the grey clouds had all floated away.

After that, the day drifted off into what every decent Saturday drifts off into, a lazy blur of hours whiled away with ease.